


lovesick.

by Trizzas



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Fan Rival, Multi, No murder, True Pacifist Route, actual mentally ill Ayano, fan character, game rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trizzas/pseuds/Trizzas
Summary: A story about love.Updated: January 30th, 2018.Next Update: To Be Determined





	1. s. 1, ep. 1 pt. 1: “the girl with no emotions”

**s. 1, ep. 1 pt. 1**  
**“ the girl with no emotions ”**

“Ms. Aishi? I’m Dr. Niijima Chiharu.”

The therapist’s office is a nothing remarkable. It’s a small box of a room with bland walls and generic, gray carpeting. Scattered across the office is various bric-a-brac: a Japanese fan more suited for American tourists mounted on the wall, various degrees awarding Dr. Niijima Chiharu with written declarations of her expertise in the psychological field, and small pictures of what looked like to be the doctor and her family. Her graduation picture was framed bigger than the others and was displayed more prominently than the other photos. Perhaps she valued her career more than her family?

Ayano could understand the feeling. She was still standing in the doorway, clammy, tanned hands grasped tight in front of her body and her gaze focused anywhere else but Dr. Niijima, who sat on a teal swivel chair in front of a larger, teal couch. Dr. Niijima herself was a tall, spindly, pale lady with gray-streaked black hair that hung right below her ribs. Though her face was severe with age, her eyes were dark and warm and her small smile was genuine enough to be called inviting. She tapped her pen on her clipboard in a way that could be interpreted as a sign of her impatience or a nervous tic. When Ayano didn’t speak, Dr. Niijima spoke again.

“If you could sit down on this couch so we can see and hear each other better, that would be great,” She chirped. Her Japanese was very formal, like she’d learned it as a second language, and Ayano couldn’t place the accent that coated each word. Still, she moved from the doorway to sit on that couch, sinking into the cushions before bringing her knees close together and setting her hands in her lap. She met Dr. Niijima’s curious, friendly gaze with her own tired, silver stare and mumbled a quick, polite hello.

“Good morning! As I said, I’m Dr. Niijima Chiharu, so that must make you Aishi Ayano, right?” Ayano nodded. “Well, it’s really a pleasure to meet you. I know we’ve talked via email prior to our meeting today but it’s one thing to talk through screens and another to talk face to face.”

Dr. Niijima stopped tapping her pen on the clipboard and instead shuffled through some of the papers settled upon it. From where she was sitting, Ayano could see that many of them were printouts of her emails with the doctor, reminiscent of a file full of criminal evidence. She half-expected to see her birth certificate and finger prints too. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Tea? Between you and me, the coffee this building offers is less than stellar but I’ve had a few visitors who like the taste.”

“Water, please.” The first, non-mumbled words Ayano allows out of herself are as flat and tired as her stare. One could imagine invisible cinder blocks bringing down each syllable, slowly dragging each word down into the depths of exhaustion. However, Dr. Niijima was undeterred and scooted back in her swively chair, reaching behind her desk to grab a water bottle before scooting back. She offered Ayano the bottle, who took it, and waited until the younger girl had taken a sip before continuing.

“Alright, based on how our email correspondence has been going this past month or so, I think we should start our first visit with a little storytelling, if that’s okay with you.” A print-out is handed to Ayano. She took it with her free hand and scanned it, recognizing as the first email she ever dared send the therapist.

**To: niijimachiharu  
From: aishiayano**

**hi, dr. niijima**

**a good friend of mine sent me your contact info and told me that i needed help. she’s right. i think i need to stop myself before i do something i can’t apologize for.**

Ayano stopped reading. She remembered sending this at stupid o’clock in the morning, hands shaking, fingers skimming over the keys as she punched out each word. She’d even forgotten to capitalize. Of course, at the time, proper grammar and sentence syntax had been the last thing on her mind and she’d been so relieved when the doctor replied only twenty minutes later, asking her to keep talking if she wished. Ayano had spilled almost everything to the doctor before Dr. Niijima offered a visit to her office, free of charge for the first visit. It was an offer Ayano could not pass up. She’d said so herself: she had to stop herself before she did something she couldn’t apologize before. This was her chance to get better.

“You want me to tell you everything,” Ayano concluded. The doctor nodded, but then hesitated.

“Actually, I want you to tell me everything that you’re comfortable sharing with me,” Dr. Niijima said. “I’m not here to force you to say anything you don’t want to share with me. You see, I only suggested you tell me what led to your need to contact me because it’s clear from your emails that you’re not exactly telling me the whole story. And that’s okay. However, I do need to know some things in order for me to start helping you. I can ask questions, but you’re never expected to answer them unless you’re comfortable doing so. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, but I want to tell you everything,” Ayano said after a beat or two of silence. “My...my problem starts way before my second-year of highschool.”

“Do you mind telling me exactly what you think started your ‘problem’?”

“It all started the day I was born…”

Dr. Niijima’s lips twitched at Ayano’s cliche, therapy session opening, but she said nothing, only nodding for Ayano to continue.

And so Ayano does. “In all seriousness, Dr. Niijima, I don’t think I should have been born.”

* * *

Ayano considered it a miracle to be able to remember a time when she was truly, ignorantly happy.

As a child no older than ten and no younger than five, Ayano was energetic but shy. Happy but quiet. She kept to herself mostly, mainly because she found entertainment inside of her own, imaginative world and large picture books. She went to school and made good grades, enjoyed making a mess in art class, and talked loudly with kids her age whose names she could no longer remember. She ate her greens, even when she complained about the taste, and went to bed without any complaints.

To younger Ayano, the world was awash in gooey happiness. There was nothing to worry about other than losing her baby teeth.

But her worldview was about as perfect as a cracked mirror; fine webs of glass slowly spreading across the frame and threatening to shatter completely. She began to notice the cracks in her mirror the older she got, and those cracks were created by her own parents.

Ryoba and Makoto Aishi were the picture-perfect pair. The former was a tall, pale beauty with striking silver eyes and a cheery smile always plastered to her lips. The latter was a shorter, darker-skinned man who Ayano got her complexion from, and every movement he made was marked with exhaustion. Perhaps that was her first clue; her father was always tired, and never said anything, or did anything, without glancing at his wife. His wife whose happiness seemed too perfect, too staged, to be real. And yet the two had lives that doted on the other; Makoto being the working man and Ryoba fulfilling the role as the happy housewife. Ayano could only remember a few times when her mother didn’t display that peculiar cheeriness of hers, and every instance had been terrifying.

When she was seven, she watched her father announce that he’d been moved to a different department and after he’d left, she watched her mother print out every bit of information she could hunt from the internet about the department before circling every woman’s name in red. By the time she’d reached the last name, the tip of the marker was flattened and bled heavily into the paper. That cheerful smile Ayano only knew of was gone, replaced with an unfamiliar mask of cold, cold anger. It was a mask of death, a promise to hurt, and it was aimed at each circled name.

Makoto had come home late that night; there’d been an accident on the road between his new department building and home and he’d waited two hours for the wreckage to be removed from the road and the traffic to clear up. Ayano remembered pretending to be asleep on the couch, excitingly awaiting her father’s return. When the doorknob began to turn, signaling his return, she started to get up only to be stopped by her mother’s quiet, dangerous prowling towards the door. When the door opened, Makoto barely got in an “I’m home” before Ryoba’s red-stained paper was shoved in his face.

“Do you know any of these women?” Was Ryoba’s quiet, loaded question.  
  
“I--,” And that was all Makoto could get out before Ryoba cut him off.

“Are they your coworkers? Your bosses? Do you know any of them outside of work? Speak to them about anything other than work or your family? Just how close are you to all these other women?” Ryoba fired off question after question, and Ayano had never heard her mother’s voice raise until then. Some insane fury was dancing in her mother’s eyes, fueled by absolute nonsense and insecurity. By the time she was finished asking the last question, Makoto was holding up both hands in surrender and shaking his head as quickly and as hard as he could.

“N-no! I just switched departments, how could I know any of them? Look, see, she’s my boss...and she’s down the hall! All we ever said to each other was good morning, I swear,” His words came out rushed, syllables slurring together in his attempt to keep his wife calm.

And Ryoba was not sated. “Keep it that way. You know I just can’t handle you being with another woman. You know what that does to me and I know you don’t like what I can do.”

“Ryoba, please--”

“You don’t like what I did all those years ago,” Ryoba’s voice had lowered to a cool murmur, and Ayano held her breath in order to hear her over the sound of her own wildly thumping heart. “But I did it so that we could have this life. So that we could have our daughter.”

Ayano would never forget the feeling of seeing her father flinch at the mention of her existence.

“Don’t do anything to screw that up,” Ryoba said, voice taking on a pleading tone. “Don’t do anything to screw it up or I’ll have to take care of it again. And you don’t want that do you, Makoto?”

“No, Ryoba.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ryoba’s voice lightened, taking on that faux cheery tone Ayano was so used to hearing. “I love you Makoto. You know that right?”

“Yes, Ryoba.”

“And you love me, right? You love me and our daughter?”

“....O-of course, Ryoba.” Her father had hesitated. At the time, Ayano didn’t understand why that made her insides twist. “Of course.”

Ryoba finally backed off, her face relinquishing it’s early fury and morphing back into her normal, mask. As she turned to walk away, she noticed Ayano still laying on the couch.

“Oh, Ayano! It’s past your bedtime,” She cooed. “Let’s hurry on to bed, okay?”

Ayano obeyed...but she never could bring herself to sleep. Something was wrong. The first crack in the mirror had appeared and it would spread.  
  
***

“So, you’re telling me that you parents have a toxic relationship?” Dr. Niijima said when Ayano paused.

“Yes,” Ayano said.

“And, from what I’m gathering, it started long before you were born? Your mother, Ryoba-san, mentioned that she didn’t want to take care of ‘it’ again. Do you know what that means? What is she talking about?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions, Niijima-sensei.”

“Well, that’s kind of my job. However, feel free to ignore my inquiries.”

Dr. Niijima went silent after that, simply watching as Ayano took a sip of her water and said nothing. She opened her mouth to say something, only to close it as Ayano spoke again.

“Yes, I do know what she meant by that.”

“How?”

“Because she told me. But we’re not there yet. You see…”

* * *

It was a long time before Ayano saw her mother change like that again. The day afterwards, she’d been quiet and had deigned herself to playing with her dolls quietly, engaging in little conversation with her parents. Her father had inhaled breakfast, bid them both goodbye, and had left for work that morning after. A few minutes later, Ryoba strapped Ayano into the backseat of their little car and had followed Makoto’s car all the way to his new department, albeit at a distance. When Ayano asked her mother why she was following her father, Ryoba had cheerfully answered, “I just have to make sure he gets there safely! You never know if something could happen.”

She’d shot Ayano a big smile and Ayano offered her a weak one in return. They’d returned back to the house without any more talk and spent the day in silence. Ayano watched her mother call her father every hour, often leaving messages with claims that she was worried about him, or that she hoped that he was having a good day. Makoto had come home later that night exhausted, but had submitted to an embrace from his wife and bent down a little to ruffle Ayano’s hair before retiring early. Dinner was a two-person meal, though Ryoba loaded a tray full of food to take up to Makoto before putting Ayano to bed again.

And so they fell into a routine, or rather, Ayano noticed the routine that her parents had always followed. They acted normal, but when no one was around, her mother seemed a little less normal and her father a little more panicky. On the days where he was was left to watch her while Ryoba handled some business, he played less with her and talked even less with her. He disconnected himself from her, and only acted when she needed him for something, like breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime. She was only seven, almost eight years old, and yet she was beginning to realize that she and her father didn’t have the same connection other kids had with their fathers.

She was beginning to realize that her father only truly communicated with her because he had to. Like she was just a responsibility -- a consequence -- of his life that he simply had to deal with. And it all stemmed back to Ryoba.

She didn’t understand how or why until the year she finally turned eleven, four years later. As a middle school student, she retained her shy nature and it was that nature that prevented her from having many friends. The kids she’d known and grown up with had migrated to their own respective cliques. Cliques that did not involve the quietest girl in school. It was terribly lonely but any concerns brought to Ryoba were met with, “When I was your age, I didn’t have many friends either, but don’t worry, it gets better!” and other generic parent advice. But the loneliness she felt due to her lack of friends paled in comparison to the loneliness she felt when she had her first crush.

Looking back, her crush had been a generic little boy named Goro or something like that with nothing remarkable about him other than his studious nature and the popularity he had with the other boys. Naturally, other girls besides Ayano fawned over him, and he indulged these crushes with nothing more than platonic gestures that were often assumed to have secret, more romantic meanings behind them. Ayano’s little crush began when the two of them were assigned to be partners in science class for the term, and the kindness and politeness he treated her with sparked her infatuation. Much to her delight, the two struck up a casual friendship, and even exchanged numbers.

And, like any little girl, Ayano excitedly spilled everything about Goro to her mother. They’d sat on the couch together, Ayano resting her head on her mother’s shoulder while she shared every detail with her mother.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Ryoba said once Ayano was done. “Love is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? When are you going to ask him out?”

Ayano shifted, a sheepish smile spreading across her lips. “I don’t really know if I’m going to, or if he's going to ask me. I mean, I’m happy being friends with him.”

Ryoba laughed, as though Ayano had said the funniest thing, “Oh that won’t do. You can’t possibly be satisfied with just friendship. You are like me after all.”

“No really, I’m fine.”

“You say that but I know you,” Ryoba wrapped an arm around Ayano’s shoulder and pulled her even closer. “Love is truly the most wonderful feeling you can experience. It would be a waste for you to let it slip through your fingers. Goro’s yours, you see.”

“Mine?” Ayano echoed.

“Yes, yours. By fate. That’s why you feel drawn to him,” Ryoba sighed. That cheerful wrongness was beginning to fall over her face, and Ayano began to pull away. Her mother’s grip tightened suddenly, and Ryoba paid no mind to any struggle Ayano put up. “I felt the same way too. With your father. I was a little older than you were, of course, but it was the same nonetheless. Before I met your father...my life was meaningless.”

“My life’s not meaningless—”

“Yes it is!” Ryoba said, harshness edging her words. “There’s no purpose in your life other than breathing, eating, sleeping, and going to school. That is all your life is.”

“What about the future?”

“What about it? In the future, you’ll breath, eat, sleep, and go to work. And that’s it. Because nothing is greater than finding the one who belongs to you in life. Your soulmate. Or, as I called Makoto, your _senpai_.” Some crazy light was dancing in Ryoba’s eyes and coupled with her insanely tight grip, a very bad feeling was beginning to stir inside of Ayano. She wished her mother would stop talking. She wished she didn’t have to hear what Ryoba said next. “After you meet yours, you’ll feel real happiness.”

“I already am happy.”

“That is false happiness, Ayano. Because it just doesn’t compare to how happy your senpai can make you. How happy Makoto made me when I fell in love with him. It was in highschool, at Akademi High, when I first met him. He was a year older than me, making him my senpai in both senses of the word, and he was the most wonderful boy I’d ever met. Everything else seemed trivial in his presence. I cared not for friends or grades or even my own mother, who was always preoccupied with my father anyways. He was kind to everyone — even the delinquents. He had not a single flaw. But he didn’t love me. Not yet, I mean.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ayano whispered. Her mother smiled wryly.

“I had to prove to him that I loved him. Had to show it to him in a way that could not be rivaled by any other girl. Except I didn’t know how. I ran crying to my mother, who told me about how she got my father to love her. The way she went about it was a little strange, very taboo in our society, but effective and necessary. My father was hers and hers only, just as Makoto is mine and mine only. Just as Goro must be yours and yours only.”

“Goro’s not my possession!”

“Of course he is! That’s why you love him. That’s why you can’t share him! I couldn’t share Makoto and my mother couldn’t share my father so how could you share him! Tell me, who else loves Goro?”

Ayano opened her mouth to answer, but shut it quickly. She wouldn’t be giving out names to her mother. Something told her that would be a dangerous action indeed.

“Other girls, huh?” Her mother said after a moment. “Thought so. That just won’t do. You see, Makoto’s charm made him a favorite with the girls. I just couldn’t stand it. They were always in my way, always trying to take him from me. It wasn’t hard to get rid of most of them peacefully, but one day I met a rival who just wouldn’t be put down so easily.”

“Put down?” Ayano echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

“I just got them out of my way. Damaged a few reputations, got one of them expelled,” Her mother answered. A strange glee was coating her words, as if those actions were actually something to be proud of. Ayano felt sick when she realized that her mother was proud of her actions. She felt even sicker when she realized that her mother had done something worse to her last rival. “But this girl was persistent and popular. No one would believe that she’d be involved in any scandals or could do anything to harm anyone else. She was an angel to everyone. Makoto was smitten with her.”

“What did you do to her?”

“What I had to. She was going to confess to him at the end of the week and he was going to accept. He was slipping through my fingers. _She had to go_.”

* * *

“‘She had to go?’” Dr. Niijima repeated, frowning.

“Yes, she had to go.” Ayano folded her shaking, cold hands in her lap. Her water had been finished ages ago.

“If I may ask, what did your mother mean by that?”

“Dr. Niijima…I’m saying that my mother killed someone.”


	2. the girl who was told not to feel

It was a long time before Dr. Niijima spoke again. The silence persisted for so long, Ayano was almost sure that she’d broken the poor woman. 

 

 Finally, in that heavily accented Japanese of her’s, the doctor said, “I’m sorry?”

 

 “My mother killed someone.” It’s easier to say the words now, but that didn’t make them any less frightening or heavy. It was hard to admit that one’s own mother was a murder, and even harder to admit it to another adult. But this was something that the therapist needed to know, even if it was gruesome to picture. 

 

 “I’m not sure I follow,” The therapist said. 

 

 “My mother is a murderer,” Ayano said, eyes meeting the therapist’s. She hoped Dr. Niijima could see the sincerity -- the absolute truth. “She killed because she was in love. Because she thought she was in love. You know how I said that I shouldn’t have been born, earlier?”

 

 A slow nod. “Well, I meant it. And it all has to do with that girl. The girl my mother murdered.”

 

 Dr. Niijima took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever Ayano was going to say, and then exhaled. “Tell me as much as you are willing to share, please.”

 

 Ayano clenched her fists until her knuckles were pale, then released and relaxed her fingers. Nervousness banished to whatever void it had crawled out of, she continued her story.

 

* * *

 “What did you do to her?” Ayano whispered, stone still against the body of her mother.

 

 “I befriended her, at first,” Ryoba said. “I pleaded with her, tried to give her a second chance. But she  _ loved  _ Makoto, and she didn’t want to let him go, not even for a friend.”

 

 “You weren’t her friend.”

 

 “No, I suppose I wasn’t,” Ryoba said, words falling flat. “Maybe if she’d said yes...maybe then we could’ve stayed close. But she couldn’t be trusted, and she was going to steal Makoto.”

 

 “So what did you do?”

 

 “One day, I asked her to walk me to the bathroom. I claimed that I was having some ‘issues’, and she was completely willing to help. She’d always been that kind of girl, you know? Anyway, with the school day drawing to a close, no one was worried about two girls walking up the hall. Most students were concerned with getting to their clubs on time, or cleaning up the classrooms. So, I led her to the bathroom, and told her what I wanted her to do.”

 

 “You wanted her to leave dad alone.” Saying the word ‘dad’ made Ayano feel sick. Like she knew that in a perfect world, Makoto would’ve been far, far away from Ryoba, and her mother would've been locked up a long time ago. 

 

 “Yes. I told her to leave Makoto alone. I even said that she could be friends with him, if she so pleased. But she would not, she would  _ never,  _ pursue him. I told her that he was mine, and no one else could have him.”

 

 “That’s insane.” Ayano immediately regretted her words. Her mother’s hand clamped down on her jaw and jerked her head up, forcing her to look into her eyes. 

 

 “Is it? Is it really that insane to want the love of your soulmate? Your senpai? You understand Ayano, I know you do. You  _ will  _ understand. Without love, creatures like you and I just won’t survive. I could never survive in a world without Makoto, just like you won’t survive in a world without your senpai. Without Goro, if that is even your senpai. You’ll shrivel up and die if he ever rejects you, or replaces you. It will happen, unless you try to stop it.”

 

 She took a deep breath, but she did not let Ayano go. Instead, she only continued talking, squeezing Ayano’s jaw when she thought she wasn’t listening. “She said no. She refused to, and called me insane. She said the same thing you said, actually, because she didn’t understand. I saw that no matter what, she would never leave him be. I could not wait for her infatuation to fade, or for her to ask him out. I knew that Makoto would say yes, because he didn’t realize that I was supposed to be his. He was just a little confused, that’s all. And she was causing his confusion. I told her that I was sorry.”

 

 Ayano could hardly breath. 

 

 “And then I stabbed her,” Ryoba said, closing her eyes. “Because I had to. And the feeling I felt was...exhilarating. I felt no remorse, because I knew that it had to end that way. She forced my hand. Many women do, Ayano.”

 

 “M-many?” Ayano echoed, hardly believing her ears. 

 

 “Many. After I killed  _ her _ , Makoto began to notice me. But he grieved for her, and always brought her up when he could. It was quite annoying, and my mother told me that it was sign that his heart did not yet belong to me,” Ryoba said. “And she was right. My mother had done the same thing I did, though she was certainly less clean and more vengeful than I.”

 

 “Grandma...she killed people?”   
  


 “Before she got old and frail, yes,” Ryoba shrugged. Ayano’s jaw was still in her grip, but she moved to brush Ayano’s cheek with her free hand. “I learned everything from my mother. Just as you’ll learn everything from me.”

 

 “No.”

 

 “ _ Yes _ . You know this, Ayano. Nothing will ever be the same again because of that,” Ryoba said, shaking her head. “Accept this, please. Accept it...before I have to make you.”

 

***

 

“‘Before I have to make you’?” Dr. Niijima repeated. It was the first thing she’d said in a while, and she was regarding Ayano with a semi-wary stare. Ayano couldn’t blame her, she’d just told the lady that the past two generations of her family were made up of murderous women. 

 

 “Yes, it was a warning,” Ayano clarified. “A promise, really. It was the first and only time she’d ever threatened me.”

 

 “Because you listened to her?”

 

 “What other choice did I have?” Ayano asked. “She was my mother, and in her own twisted way, she loved me. But she wouldn’t hesitate to break me, if it would satisfy her dream.”

 

 “And what exactly was this dream of hers?”   
  


 “Being my father’s loving housewife whom he doted on,” Ayano said. “With their perfect daughter as proof of their love. My mother was delusional, and there was something terribly wrong with her. But I pity her.”

 

 Dr. Niijima raised an eyebrow. “Why? From the sound of it, your mother wasn’t all that good of a person.”

 

 “I pity her because she had to live with someone like my grandmother,” Ayano said. “My mother tried to play it off by saying that Grandma didn’t have to kill to get who she wanted, but she was just as addled as my mother. As addled as me.”

 

 “In the short time I’ve been talking to you, I’ve seen nothing that would ever suggest any behavior similar to that of your mother or your grandmother,” Dr. Niijima said. “You’ve been a fine patient so far.”

 

 “Have I really? What about if I told you about the things I thought...about the things I almost did?” A sudden hardness had taken over Ayano’s tone. “You’d hesitate to compliment me then, would you?”   
  


 “The reason why you’re here is because you had enough maturity and self-awareness to know that you needed help, regardless of your friends ‘intervention’. May I ask who your friend is?”

 

 “Odayaka Amai,” Ayano said. “She...she deals with her own demons sometimes, and she recognized mine. But we’ll get to her later.”

 

 Dr. Niijima’s eyes glanced at the clock, her heart sinking. Her time was up; her next patient would be coming in the next half hour. Ayano followed her gaze and frowned. 

 

 “Nevermind then.”

 

 “If you would, would you please come meet me tomorrow?” Dr. Niijima asked suddenly. “Same time, same length? And free of charge. I must admit that I am interested in you, and very concerned.”

 

 Ayano tossed the idea around in her head a few times. She should’ve known better than anyone that her issues would take time to solve, and nothing Dr. Niijima could say would solve them in one day. The idea of coming back day after day, however, was a daunting suggestion…

 

 But she remembered what Amai had told her the week before, hardness in that soft jaw of her’s, but concern in her eyes. 

 

_ “You need help, Ayano-san. Many people do, but so few seek it out. You have an opportunity now. Your mother isn’t here, and she can’t get to you! You’re safe -- no one can hurt you -- but you need to seem someone before you do something that can hurt everyone.” _

 

__ Ayano stood from where she sat, moving towards the door. She threw her empty water bottle in the recycling container by door, and paused with her hand on the handle. 

 

 “Thank you for your time, Niijima-sensei,” She said. “I got some things off my chest...but not all of it.”

 

 Turning around to face the doctor, she added, “There’s so much I have to tell you still...about Taeko, and Amai. About Oka and Kizana and Asuna, and so many more. I will come back.”

 

 The therapist visibly relaxed in her seat, offering Ayano a smile. “I’m glad to hear it, Ayano. We have much to uncover.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written using amairevenge’s headcanons. Updates are slow but long (for the time being.)


End file.
